


Nursery Blues

by dotYoo



Series: Getting to the Root of Things [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Pacifist Route, and it turns out Sans does know a curse or two, in which Gaster is a jerk and Papyrus is not, possession!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotYoo/pseuds/dotYoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans has a familiar nightmare.  Papyrus helps him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nursery Blues

**Author's Note:**

> This piece gave me an _incredibly difficult time_. There are _seven pages_ of words in this thing's edited-out file. Takes place in [chapter 4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5247584/chapters/12326843) of _Getting to the Root of Things_ while Toriel is thinking about her life in the royal business. Thanks for sticking with me you guys!

Sans can’t tell if his eyes are open until the strings of his jacket float past his face. Everything is dark and weightless. The sheer nothingness of the void stretches on forever, lacking even a horizon to look out to.

Sans’ face is not mobile enough to express how unhappy he is to see this.

_“Sans?”_ asks a voice from behind him.

“No,” Sans replies, crossing his arms and hunching in on himself.

_“What are you doing here?”_

“I’m not here, actually. I’m asleep in bed in a dimension where light exists on the visible spectrum. Speaking of, I’d like to get back there, so if you could just…” He makes a shooing gesture with both hands. The motion sends him into a slow feet-over-head rotation.

In the silence of the void, the person’s movements are incredibly loud. They inspect Sans thoroughly, orbiting several times in all three spatial dimensions (that Sans understands) before finally sliding into his line of sight. _“Something happened to you?”_

Sans turns away to keep from seeing the figure. “No.” 

_“Something is still happening to you?”_

“ _No_ , it isn’t.” Sans chooses a direction at random and tries to frog-stroke away. It’s slow going, since he isn’t equipped to maneuver in a zero-gravity environment. “Leave me alone.” 

A disconnected hand catches Sans’ ankle. Another grabs his hood, and a third snags the back of his jacket. _“Why do you insist on behaving this way?”_

“Because I am having a very bad day (which, by the way, I don’t want to talk about) and I don’t have the patience for your better-than-thou act. Let go.” 

_“You are behaving irrationally.”_ More hands clutch his arms and spin him around. 

Sans shuts both eyes tight. “Do not make me look at you, boogerman. The existential dissonance will make me puke, we’ll both get grossed out, you’ll be upset, _I’ll_ be upset—” 

_“Sans,”_ the figure says sharply, _“Stop. What is going on?”_

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Sans snaps back, twisting his face away and pushing his feet against the figure’s chest. His shoes make a thick squishing noise on contact. 

_“Stop squirming.”_

“Why is everyone telling me what to do? I can make my own decisions!” 

_“You’re being unreasonable.”_

“ _I’m_ being unreasonable?!” 

_“Sans, look at me.”_ More hands crawl up his shoulders, firmly holding his head in place. 

He bites at one. “I swear to fuck, buddy, if you don’t let go—” 

Fingers are trying to pry his eyes open, _“Sans.”_

“—we are both going to have a _very bad_ —” 

“Sans!” 

Something slaps him. 

Sans’s eyes clear. The grasping hands turn to mittens, and Gaster’s silhouette solidifies into Papyrus’. Candlelight flickers under the door and catches on blanket they're currently sharing. All Sans can do is gasp for air and push away memories that are already oozing, ink-like, away from his brain. 

“Sans,” Papyrus says, softer, “it’s alright.” 

He blinks at his brother’s outline, trying to clear the phantom hands from his vision. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” Papyrus gently untangles the blankets, which have snarled around Sans’ arms in a way that suggests restraints. 

“Kind of a _knotty_ situation,” Sans says desperately. 

Papyrus sighs heavily. “I’m instigating a new rule: no using puns to cover up your nightmares.” 

“That one wasn’t a nightmare,” Sans protests, tugging his arm free so he can help the untangling effort, “More like a really nauseating bad dream.” 

“I noticed.” Papyrus finally peels the blanket off and sits back to give Sans some space. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Uh.” Instead of trying to explain the fact that he doesn't actually remember the dream anymore, Sans lunges after Papyrus' retreating hand. He isn't sure how to express how badly he needs the grounding right now. 

Papyrus takes this in, then sinks back into the tiny mattress and wraps both arms around Sans' shoulders. Sans grabs fistfuls of Papyrus' shirt (which is several sizes too small because it was originally meant for a human child). He doesn't know how to say how good it is to feel the pull of gravity, or how reassuring it is to know this tall skeletal figure is Papyrus and not anyone else. 

They lay together in the dark. Sans has read that the sun creates different shades of darkness as it rises, and wonders if this would qualify as a pre-morning dim or dark-before-the-dawn shade. 

“Sans,” Papyrus says suddenly, breaking the tense silence, “I’m sorry for what happened at dinner. Sometimes I get stuck thinking of you in terms of your laziness and how stubborn you are, but that doesn’t mean you’re a project to be worked on. You’re an adult who gets to make your own decisions about what goes on in your life and whether or not you want to talk about it. And if you don’t want to talk about what goes on in your life, you certainly don’t have to.” He rests his hand on Sans’ uninjured left arm. “I want you to know that whatever you decide, I support you.” 

It takes Sans a long moment to process this, and another handful of seconds to get his voice under control. “Thanks,” he says quietly, “That means a lot.” 

Papyrus squeezes his fingers. “I will probably still bother you about work and hygiene and a healthy diet, but please know that from here on out, I will be more mindful of your emotional well being as well. I understand that great benefit can be found in things that initially look unhealthy.” 

Sans squeezes back. “I know you do it because you care about me.” 

“That doesn’t give me the right to tell you that you’re wrong. I may not always understand the things you do or why you do things, but you’re not _wrong_.” 

Sans thinks about coming home to Papyrus carefully minding the stove, and Papyrus nagging him about getting a (real) job, and the nights Papyrus knows Sans isn’t sleeping but still carries him to bed because Sans simply doesn’t have the energy to carry himself. Papyrus sometimes has trouble understanding viewpoints other than his own, but he’s never let that get in the way of taking care of someone. 

Sans swallows thickly. That kind of strength deserves a strong answer. 

“Sometimes I don’t talk about things because I don’t want to face them,” he says quickly, before he can lose his nerve. “I say it’s because I want to look strong, or because I’m protecting you, or because I’m waiting for the right moment. But sometimes it’s just because I'm scared I won't be able to deal with things. This,” he gestures with his broken arm. “Means I wasn’t smart or strong enough. What am I supposed to do about that?” 

Papyrus’ arms tighten around Sans’ torso. In a different context, the action might remind him of creeping, suffocating vine worming through his bones. But where Flowey was careless, Papyrus is gentle. He’s mindful of Sans’ injuries and dials down the strength when Sans tenses. It feels like he’s holding Sans together. “I don’t know,” Papyrus says softly. “But I don’t think it means you’re stupid or weak.” 

“What does it mean, then?” 

“I think it means you made a mistake, which means that you’re just as fallible as everyone else.” He gently tucks Sans under his chin. “I think it means you’re being too hard on yourself about this. If our roles were reversed, would it have been my fault?” 

“No, but—” 

“No, it wouldn’t have, because I wouldn’t have intended anything like this to happen and neither did you. I don’t know how this situation came about, but I have absolutely no doubt that you went into it with the best of intentions. And if you try to tell me anything otherwise, I’ll—” He puffs up in thought, “I’ll _sit_ on you until you _beg for mercy_.” 

Sans snorts. And snickers. And then he starts to laugh in honest. The polite chuckle he uses in public is blown aside by great, heaving peals of laughter that sends his whole frame into spasms. The stress of the past few days catches up with him in a howling fit that leaves him completely breathless. He laughs until his stomach aches and his bruised ribs throw a fit. At some point Papyrus starts laughing with him, until they’re desperately clutching each other for grounding. 

“No-o-o,” Sans wheezes around his uncontrollable snickering, “Have mercy, Detective Derriere.” 

“Oh yes!” Papyrus says, wiping tears from his eyes, “I will get to the— To the _bottom_ of this!” 

“ _No-o-o!_ ” 

It takes them several minutes to calm down, and progress is easily set back. It’s well into the morning by the time Sans gets his breath back. 

He takes the opportunity to draw the covers up and settle against his brother. Even though they’ve spent maybe six of the last forty-eight hours away from each other, Sans feels like he and Papyrus have only just come back together after a long time apart. They can lie on the child-sized bed and enjoy each other’s presence. Sans takes it all in: the room-temperature warmth he and Papyrus share under the blanket, the peaceful darkness of a room with no windows. The gentle light pushing in from the hallway, and the sounds of cooking drifting in from somewhere beyond that. He wonders what Toriel is up making this morning, and hopes she’ll let him and Papyrus take care of clean up. And possibly let them do something about her broken doors. It’s the least they can do to repay her for taking them in and restoring their relationship. 

“Are you any good at stone cutting,” Sans asks 

Papyrus looks over and grins. “Good? I _rock_.” 

Yeah, everything is going to be fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, if anyone is interested, I'm looking for someone to toss ideas around with because I have stagnated :/ Anyone interested, or if you've got questions/comments/concerns or writing prompts (these are my favorites), drop me a line right [here](http://katan-a-rama.tumblr.com/). Thanks for reading!


End file.
